Watching
by ozzysgirl
Summary: When you don't fit in. When you find it hard to trust. When you're always waiting for the other shoe to drop. You learn to keep a little piece of yourself back. You keep people at arm's length. And you watch.
1. Chapter 1

This is a completely new AU from the last few stories. After much internal debate, Quinn won out as my main character. I'm just not done with him yet. However, I think this Quinn will be quite different. Because I'm impulsive, and I never listen to advice given by those who know better. I'm not several chapters ahead, so bear with me if I take a while to update.

I don't own Sons Of Anarchy

WATCHING

The In Crowd. Not something I've ever been a part of.

For the first eleven years of my life I wasn't aware that such a thing existed. There was just me, my family and my friends.

Then I started secondary school.

My introduction to this phenomena had been on my first day. It was lunchtime the dining hall, I looked around and spotted an empty chair at a table occupied by a group of girls, I wandered over and asked if I could sit there. The group fell silent and looked over to the girl sitting at the head of the table, she in turn, looked me up and down and said no.

I was slightly perplexed by this. Something about me was wrong. Something meant I wasn't good enough to sit at their table. I didn't worry about it for long, though. There were other seats and quickly I spotted my friends in the corner and went to sit with them instead.

Over the next few months I learnt that these were _the _girls to hang out with. I also learnt that they would never accept someone like me. Even at that young age, I liked the wrong things, asked the wrong questions, wore the wrong clothes.

My first teacher, a tiny ancient woman who had also taught my dad, said that in life there are watchers and doers. I apparently, was a watcher. I don't know how true that was, but I did grow wary of them and their influence across the school.

They were older than me. The inner circle were all in the last year, and waiting in the wings were the hangers on, the wannabes, ready to step in when September came and they were finally top of the food chain.

At first I was ignored, too small and insignificant to register, and I settled in happily, not realising that the other kids thought it odd that I hung out with boys all the time. Girls like makeup, listening to boy bands and talking about their latest object of desire. They don't fool around on dirt bikes or play poker. I didn't realise that.

As I grew older I became the topic of conversation for the In Crowd. They never said anything to me. My friends wouldn't let that happen, but gradually I became aware of their eyes on me, and when I walked past, the whispering and sniggering would start. I didn't care. It wasn't as if I wanted to be their friend. I was having way too much fun, riding my bike, getting chased by angry farmers, and generally getting into trouble to notice a bunch of girls who took pleasure in making others miserable.

When I was fourteen, my best friend, who was a year or so older than me, quit school and for the first time I was alone. As soon as they realised I had lost my protector, the In Crowd decided that I was to be their next victim. That by somehow making me miserable, their lives would be improved. The whispers grew louder, then the taunts began. When they realised their bitchy comments about the way I dressed fell on stony ground, or that I didn't try to change the things I enjoyed doing to become accepted, they tried a new tactic. They would ostracise me. Anyone who befriended me was targeted, and in a remarkably short time I found myself friendless. It was a particularly unpleasant time in my life, but I couldn't change who I was, and to be honest, even if I had, I was pretty sure it wouldn't have made any difference.

So there I was, fourteen years old and, in school time anyway, completely alone. Going to the teachers was pointless. These were the posh kids, the ones who lived in the big houses, the ones who's parents were on the PTA and involved in the community. In essence they were the offspring of mums who in turn were part of their own In Crowd.

So I kept my head down and stayed out of their crosshairs as much as possible.

And I watched.

From September until May, I put up with the bitchy comments and loneliness. Until one day, two months before the summer holidays began. A new girl started. She was small, even smaller than me, and rarely spoke. Suddenly they had a new victim and this freak was left alone. Then on the way home from school, I watched as they surrounded this little girl and as the others bayed for her blood, the queen bitch ripped her bag from her hands and threw it in a ditch. Something inside me snapped and I marched over to her. I wasn't thinking, had no plan. It was like my legs were thinking for me and overriding my common sense. I pulled myself up to my full height, which was even then a good few inches shorter than hers, and pushed.

For the next month, she made my life hell. If something belonged to me, she would ruin it. My coat, my bag, my artwork. (that one stung) And the verbal abuse was relentless. Sometimes things even got physical. But honestly, it was worth it. No matter what she and her bunch of bitches did or said, nothing would erase the image of her clambering out of that ditch covered in black slime. Even now I smile at the memory.

I never fought back, or ratted on her. It didn't matter. In July I would be quitting school and her reign, over me at least, would be over.

That was my one and only experience of being the victim of bullying at the hands of the In Crowd and I was determined that I would never let it happen again.

I was a freak, but I was a freak that, if pushed, would push back.

I was lucky. My experience at the hands on the In Crowd was brief and I always had friends who accepted me for who I was. But it did have an effect on me.

I was a weird kid that grew to be a weird adult. There are few places where I fit. I'm friendly, and try to get along with everyone. But there's a _differentness_ about me that sets me apart from my peers. I don't know what it is, never have. I see it, and so do others. It puts me on the outside. Makes me guarded. Makes me…..

* * *

"Hey!"

"Sorry, babe." Johnny closed the document. "I didn't know that stuff still bothered you."

"It doesn't." Mikey smiled and put the plates on the table. "Something happened that made me think about it, so I wrote it down."

"You still do that?"

"Sometimes. Come and sit down, Eat your lunch before it gets cold."

"Did you write about…?"

"Shit! No. Do you have any idea what would happen to me if they thought I was writing the stuff I knew down?" Mikey looked at her friend of over thirty three years and sighed. "There is stuff, you know from before…. Before. But it's just random stuff, you know musings. No details."

"You sure? If there's anything, y'know."

"Yeah I know. I'd have to delete everything, smash the hard drive into a million pieces and throw it into the deepest ocean."

"Pretty much." He grinned, poking at his steak. "Your cooking skills haven't improved any, I see."

Mikey shook her head, and began eating her lunch, enjoying the feeling of peace. "I missed you."

"Missed you too. Listen, I think you should go through the stuff you've written, I know there's not much chance, and maybe I'm being paranoid. But if plod comes knocking, you don't need anything tying you to the club and what happened."

She sighed. She knew that there really was little chance that the cops would come looking for her, but she also knew that if the club had even the slightest suspicion that she had anything that could be used against them, they wouldn't think twice about silencing her. He wouldn't think twice about silencing her. "Johnny. I need to know. Are you here as my friend, or because the club sent you?" He looked away, and abruptly, she stood up. "Shit J. There was me thinking you were all concerned, when all the while you were sniffing around trying to find out what I know."

"I am concerned. I've just flown halfway across the world cos I was worried about you. I'm your friend, for fuck's sake." Johnny stood and grabbed her arm. "And it was me or…."

"Someone else."

"Yeah. Someone else. Please, Babe. If you have anything incriminating. Anything at all, you have to destroy it. Things are crazy back there, the law is all over the club's back. And you just taking off like that, after… well it don't look good. I just need to be able to go back and tell them that you don't have anything, that we're good."

"I'm not a rat, and despite everything I don't want to hurt the club." She blinked in an attempt to stop the tears that were threatening to fall. "If you want, you can take the lap top. You'll not find anything on it. You can go through all my stuff as well. It won't take you long. Everything I own fits into that suitcase over there."

"I'm sorry. But you know the club had no choice. Pete was a rat. He betrayed all of us all. Including you." He ran his hand over his head. "I've been asked to bring you to Charming. The Prez wants to talk to you."


	2. Chapter 2

I don't own Son's Of Anarchy.

Watching

Pete asked me today if I loved him, and, no matter how I tried I couldn't give him an answer.

I love things about him. I love the way he looks, how he makes me laugh. I love riding behind him, watching people stop and stare as we roar by, and I love how he feels when he's inside me. But do I love _him_?

Maybe it's just me, I really don't know. Lust, I understand. Wanting someone. Needing them. But love? To give yourself one hundred percent, whole heartedly to someone?

I watch couples. The ones that are really in love. Watch how they are.

There's a kind of telepathy between them, a level of understanding that comes from knowing everything about someone-the bad as well as the good-but loving them anyway. I don't look at Pete that way, I don't want to know the bad stuff. If it was just _my_ Pete. The funny, loving guy that comes home to me each night, maybe it would be easier. I don't want to know the other Pete, the one who disappears for days at a time, then comes home bloodied and evasive. I'm not stupid, I know what he is, but the only way we can be together is if I pretend to myself that I don't.

So I guess my answer has to be. No I don't think I will ever really love him, nor he I.

We are both keeping too much of ourselves back.

Him, because he's an outlaw. And me, because I'm a freak.

* * *

Johnny looked up from the laptop to the woman asleep on the bed in the corner. He had known her practically all his life, yet still sometimes felt he didn't know her at all. The Mikey everyone saw was friendly and outgoing. She was brave to the point of recklessness, was never afraid to stand up for what she believed in and would never walk away from a fight. Despite this, she was always terrified to let people see, what she believed to be the real Mikey. He wondered what that really was. He saw a smart, beautiful girl. A talented artist, she saw the world differently to everyone else. She would see beauty in the ugliest things. And sometimes when all everyone could see was beauty. She saw something else. Something darker.

She stirred and opening her eyes, looked over at him. "Ugh. What time is it."

"Late…early. I'm not sure. Go back to sleep."

"I'm awake now." Sliding off the bed, she padded over to where he was sitting and peered over his shoulder. "You seriously going to read every post? There are hundreds. I told you there was nothing on there."

"I know, and I'm sorry for prying into your personal stuff. But I have to know there's nothing there."

"Don't you trust me?" She wandered over to the sink in the corner and poured herself a glass of water. "When have I ever given you a reason not to?"

"I do trust you, Babe. You know that."

"But the club doesn't."

"No. The club doesn't. They are prepared to give you a fair hearing though."

"I guess I have you to thank for that." She crossed the room to where he was sitting and kissed the top of his head.

"Partly. But it was Quinn who persuaded Clay that they should hear you out. I didn't know you knew him."

"I don't, not well. When he was in Manchester for…. For whatever he was there for, he stayed at our place. I didn't see that much of him to be honest. He seemed nice though."

"Well you must have made a good impression, and yeah. Quinn's one of the good guys." Johnny smiled and reaching out, pulled her close. "Nobody really thinks that you'll rat."

"Sure they don't. I'm not stupid, J. Half the Manchester charter is still on remand, because, according to the club, they were set up by my old man."

"I won't let them hurt you."

She barked a short humourless laugh. "Ha. Now we both that's not true. You didn't stop them from hurting your closest brother."

"He was a rat, Mikey. You know that." He pushed her away from him. "He was a rat, I had no choice."

"There's always a choice. You stood by and watched as they killed my old man, because you were too cowardly to stop them."

"How? C'mon, let's hear it. How the fuck was I supposed to stop them?"

"I don't know. But for some reason you think you can stop them from killing me, so I imagine there must be a way." She turned and began pacing up and down. "The CPS has lost it's star witness and I'd be the next best thing. Without Pete the case will collapse. That's why I ran. I wasn't running from the club, if I was I wouldn't have told you where I was. I ran from the law."

"I know. That's why you need to go to Clay. The club will protect you. We don't kill innocents."

"No but you do kill witnesses."

"You don't know anything. Talk to Clay." He shrugged. "It's your only option."

"I could run."

"You could. But the club will hunt you down, and when they find you they will kill you."

"Looks like the club wins again then." She sighed. "I'm going back to bed. You coming?"

"Yeah, I'll be there in a bit."

He watched as she climbed back into bed, then sat back at the table and clicked on the next document. He meant what he had said. It had killed him to watch Pete die at the hands at the club. But he had signed his own death warrant when he made that deal with the cops. The stuff he knew could bring down, not only the Manchester charter, but every charter between there and California. He closed his eyes in an attempt to block out the image of his brother, on his knees, still protesting his innocence as the muzzle of the nine millimeter was pressed against his temple.

Mikey wasn't going to meet the same fate. He'd make sure of that. The club would realize, when she spoke to them, that she knew nothing. That she was just an old lady who happened to have a rat as an old man.

He yawned. Jet lag was finally catching up with him and tomorrow they had a long drive to California. With a sigh, he shut down the lap top, then climbed into the narrow bed and wrapping his arms around his friend, he pulled her onto his chest and fell asleep.


	3. Chapter 3

I don't own Sons of Anarchy

Watching

Are sunsets beautiful?

I know they are, obviously. But when we gaze at the wonderful colours streaking across the sky, we don't consider the pollution in the atmosphere that created it.

There is so much beauty in nature, but it isn't beauty by design, not intelligent design, anyway.

I'm an artist, I know what is aesthetically pleasing. The mathematical accuracy of a flower, the symmetry of a butterfly, even a strand of DNA is a beauty to behold. I could wax lyrical about the wonders of the world from the tiniest organisms that float in the oceans to the magnificence of the of the oceans themselves. I see them the same as everyone else.

Something in out makeup means that certain things are attractive to us. Beauty is symmetry and order, patterns that we all recognise. There must be a part of our brains that make us latch on to that. The order soothes us.

But often that beauty is a lie. Just as the greater the amount of pollution, the more magnificent the sunset. There is a darkness about much of what we call beautiful.

When someone sits in their garden, listening to the singing of the birds and the humming of the insects, they are blissfully unaware of the war that is raging around them. Every living thing is locked in a bitter battle for survival. Those pretty flowers brightening up the place are fighting each other for every last scrap of light, or water, all the while trying to protect themselves from the myriad of insects, birds or mammals that will try to eat them. They arm themselves with thorns, and toxins, what ever it takes to stay alive.

Not that the rest of the wildlife have it any easier, the insects adopt numerous ways to stay alive and thrive. Some disguise themselves, the result often being spectacular to the human eye, or use subterfuge to deter predators, some will use those same methods to catch their prey. Those that live in colonies, will fight to the death to protect their queen. An admirable quality, I think. Stupid, but admirable. Those singing birds? They're not singing for the joy of living. They're letting every other bird in the neighbourhood know that this is their patch, and unless they want to be fucked, both literally and figuratively, they'd better stay the fuck away.

The red, red robin isn't bob, bob, bobbing. He's waging a turf war.

There's another type of beauty. The kind that both attracts and repels us. The beauty in chaos. It's easy to see the beauty in a calm sea, under a blue sky. The post card industry wouldn't exist without it. But when the sea turns grey and boils and froths, as if it was in a giant cauldron. When that sky is black and lightening flickers across the clouds. Is that not beautiful? Of course it is. But it's also scary, and that is part of it's appeal. To stand on the rocks and feel the tinge of electricity in the air, to feel the tug of the wind, the rain and spray on your face. To get up close and personal with the destructive force of nature.

I could never just sit in my garden in the early evening, sipping a G&T. Not when I know if I lift that stone in the corner, I could watch a war taking place….

* * *

"I thought, the idea of us sharing the driving was so one of us could sleep while the other drives." Mikey pressed the accelerator and overtook a semi as it slowly climbed the hill. "You're not going to find whatever it is your looking for. You know that, right."

"I know." Johnny shut down the laptop and turned to the girl next to him. "Why do you do it?"

"Write everything down?" She shrugged. "Not sure. I was having anger issues, years ago. When you were in Strangeways. Me and Pete were on the brink of breaking up and I thought seeing a councillor might help. She suggested that writing down my thoughts might help in some way."

"And does it?"

"I dunno. Maybe. Me and Pete stayed together until…..until." She swallowed. "So yes, I think it did. Sometimes, when there's a lot of noise in my head, if I write stuff down, it helps me to focus my thoughts."

"Do you mind? Some of this stuff is pretty personal." Johnny reached into his pocket and, ignoring her scowl, pulled out a cigarette. "You know that when we get to Charming, their tech guy is going to go over this with a fine tooth comb." He chuckled. "I suppose I could just throw it out of the window."

"No! No, my whole life is on there. I haven't done anything wrong, and I have nothing to hide. Let them look." She sighed. "I don't even know what it is you're looking for."

"Not sure I am, Babe. But if there's anything there that Clay thinks may put the club in the firing line, they will find it." He looked up. "Take the next turning and head towards Salt Lake. Quinn will meet us there."

"Quinn? I thought he was in Charming?"

Johnny shifted uncomfortably. "He's headed there now. He will do it quicker than us, even if we share the driving. So he'll take the laptop. That way Juice can check it out before you arrive."

"Oh no. I don't think so." Her hands gripped the wheel a little tighter and she stuck out her chin, the way she used to when she was a kid.

Johnny sighed. He knew that she'd actually get into it with Quinn over this. And he knew that that was an extremely bad idea. "Mikey. You're talking as if you have a choice here. Remember, he's in your corner. You do not want to piss him off." She opened her mouth to speak, and he raised his hand. "No I need you to listen. The money Pete skimmed from club funds is still missing. No one knows how long he'd been doing it or exactly how much has been taken. But it's a lot."

"Well I don't have it. I'm skint, you saw that."

"I know. I know. I'm so sorry this is coming back onto you. But there was nothing on Pete's PC, and the guys turned your old place upside down and found precisely Jack Shit. If there's an account or safety deposit box, there must be a record of it somewhere."

"Maybe you couldn't find anything because you got the wrong guy."

"Jesus, Mikey! How many fucking times? He was stealing from the club, and when he realised we were on to him, he sold us to the law as a way of protecting his sorry arse."

"Anyone could…."

"No, Mikey. No they couldn't. He was club secretary. He was the only one who had access to club funds and the means to cover his tracks. This was Pete. I'm sorry. I know you don't want to believe it, but he hung you out to dry as well. He was given a fair trial. He left the club with no option."

"Fair trial?" Mikey snorted. "He was tortured. And despite that, he still protested his innocence. How was that a fair trial?"

Johnny looked out of the passenger window. She had a point. Pete had never confessed, but the evidence was indisputable. He'd been smart, smarter than they'd given him credit for. And if it hadn't been, ironically, a passing comment to him from Mikey, they still would probably be none the wiser. He would never be able to shake the guilt he felt for taking what he knew to the club. He knew that he had betrayed his closest brother and best friend, but first and foremost, his loyalties would always lay with the club. He wondered if she realised that her off the cuff remark that now Pete was earning big, they could afford a good Christmas, had led to this whole sorry affair.

"Do you know where the club house is." Mikey raised her hand in apology as she cut in front of a chevy in her haste to switch lanes.

"Nope. I've arranged to meet Quinn at a motel about a mile up this road. We can stay there the night, and head out in the morning." He pulled out his phone. "Quinn? We're two minutes away…. Okay….Yeah. Later bro."

* * *

As he knocked on the Motel room door, Johnny felt her hand slip into his, and he gave it a reassuring squeeze. She was right to be scared. If she couldn't convince Clay that she had no part in all this, she would die.

The door opened and he felt her stiffen as he released her hand and hugged his brother. "Quinn. Good to meet you, brother."

"Welcome to America. Come on in." Quinn stepped to one side and raised an eyebrow at the woman tucked behind his brother. "Michaela. Looks like you found yourself in the middle of a shit storm, girl."

Mikey gave a tiny smile and looked at him through her lashes. "Johnny said you persuaded Clay to hear me out. Thank you."

"Don't think you know any club shit, an' I don't think you pose a threat." He touched her cheek. "Of course, if I'm wrong. I'll put a bullet through your skull myself."

"You're not wrong. I don't know anything. Even if I did, I wouldn't talk. Pete never told me anything, we never discussed the club." She walked past him and sank onto the bed. "I'm never going to prove I'm innocent am I? I'm going to end up just like Pete."

Quinn and Johnny exchanged a look, and the big nomad sat down next to her. "I wish I could say that everything was going to be fine, but you ain't stupid. Hopefully with Pete gone, the case will collapse and the Manchester guys will go free. But Pete was privy to a lot of stuff about charters right across the world. Clay is running damage control right now."

"And part of that may include killing me."

"I doubt it. Let them check out your laptop. Answer any questions they will have and stay close until we know the case has collapsed. Once he knows we're in the clear, Clay will cut you loose." He laid his hand on her shoulder. "Killing women doesn't sit well with the sons."

"Unless that woman is a rat."

"Are you a rat?"

"No."

"Then you'll live." Giving her shoulder a squeeze, he stood up. "There's a diner next door. How about we get some food. You sleep here tonight."

"I though you were staying here."

"I am." He grinned. "There's plenty of room for three. Don't look so worried, we wont jump ya."

"You go get something to eat, I'm not hungry, I'll stay here."

"Then you can come and watch us eat. Ain't leaving you here."

"You think I'll run?"

"Oh I know you'll run. First opportunity you get." He held out his hand. "C'mon girl. Lets get something to eat."

Mikey hadn't been lying when she said she wasn't hungry. As the two sons devoured their burgers, she pulled hers apart and sipped her coffee. Johnny gave her a nudge. "Eat."

With a sigh, she complied, forcing some fries down, and taking a bite of her mutilated burger. "What will you do Johnny? After…After all this."

"Go home. What else would I do? We'll get this sorted out, then go home."

"I'm not sure I'll be coming with you. Even if Clay cuts me loose, I don't think I will go back."

"What will you do?" Quinn took a huge bite of his burger.

"Dunno. Stay here, maybe. I'm broke but I can earn. I haven't thought much about the future. I came here to get away from the law in Britain, I never gave it much more thought than that."

Quinn nodded. "Well if you decide to stay, give me a shout. I know a guy, he'll sort out all the documents you'll need."

Johnny slammed his cup onto the table, causing some of the diners at the other tables to turn round. "You will come home with me. Back to where you belong."

"Where I belong?" She smiled a little sadly. "I don't belong anywhere."


	4. Chapter 4

I don't own Sons of Anarchy

Watching

"Welcome to the family."

I had been told that walking into the clubhouse for the first time can be an intimidating experience. But for me, it was like coming home. From that first moment when Leo, the president uttered those words, it felt for the first time since I was a kid, like I belonged.

I was twenty two, fresh out of art school, when Johnny suggested I left my Oxfordshire home and move to Manchester and share a flat with him. It wasn't easy at first, I'm a country girl and, even now, never really feel at home in big cities. But between him, the club, and later, Pete, I quickly settled in.

Johnny had been living there for two years and had recently been patched into the club and was keen to introduce me to his brothers. I might not have been his old lady, but he considered me family, and told me that they would see me the same way. He was right, from the very outset I was made to feel welcome, and I in turn embraced my new family with open arms.

Many women struggle with being around men who expect them to know their place and keep their opinions to themselves. But for me it wasn't a problem. I like to be left alone and would much rather sit unobtrusively in a corner just watching, than to be in the thick of things. In the clubhouse I've never had to pretend to be something I'm not.

It had been a surprise when I caught Pete's eye. He was, without doubt, the most handsome of all the patches. Every woman in the place would throw themselves at him at every opportunity. Unlike them, I never slept with the patches. I love to serve behind the bar, or to help out in the kitchen. But casual sex was never my thing. Johnny would step in if anyone got too friendly, but generally I was left alone.

Pete though, was different. He never came on too strong, but would sit at the bar and chat as I served drinks, or offer to give me a ride home at the end of the night. Slowly he broke down my defences and, a few months after I first set foot through the clubhouse doors, his name was inked on my shoulder….

* * *

Mikey stirred, and Quinn looked over to the narrow bed where she and Johnny were laying. "You okay, girl?"

Carefully, so as not to disturb the man next to her, she sat up and ran her fingers through her hair. "Yeah. What time is it?"

"Just gone midnight. I'm gonna go outside for a smoke. Join me."

It wasn't a request. With a sigh, Mikey swung her legs over the side of the bed and pulling on her jeans, followed him outside.

Shivering slightly as the cool night air touched her bare arms, she stood on the kerb next to where he was sitting smoking a cigarette. Quinn frowned. "You cold? Here." He pulled her down between his legs and wrapped his arms around her. Immediately, she stiffened. He was holding her too tight, and she fought down the panic that was rising in the chest. "Relax, girl. I ain't gonna hurt ya. Just wanted to warm you up."

"I know. I just feel uncomfortable when people hold me."

"You were okay with Johnny back there."

"Johnny's different. I…."

"Trust him?"

"Yeah."

"You don't trust me." A statement, not a question. He loosened his hold on her slightly and smiled as he felt her relax. "What's the story with you two? You fucking him?"

"No. We've been friends since we were kids. His folks practically raised me after my mum died."

"He was okay with you an' Pete getting together?"

"Of course. Why do you ask?" She stiffened again.

"I dunno. I guess it's unusual to see a brother so close to a bitch an' not be fucking her."

"Johnny was fine with Pete and I getting together and Pete was fine with me and Johnny being friends. We are not fucking. Never have and never will." She leaned back slightly, enjoying the warmth from his chest on her back. Taking the cigarette from between his fingers, she took a long drag. "Mine and Johnny's relationship has nothing to do with…. With what happened, so why are you asking?"

"Not sure." Quinn retrieved his cigarette. For the last two hours he'd been trawling through her posts, and if anything he was more confused now than ever. They appeared to be a random stream of consciousness. Some were more like diary entries. Others were long angry rants about nothing in particular. And then there were the ones which felt like real insights into her psyche. He now knew she had trust issues and was frankly, pretty fucked up. But he was still no nearer to finding out whether or not she had anything that could be used against the club. There was something else though. Something he couldn't put his finger on. "Reckon the more I find out about you, the more confused I get."

"Why do you want to find out more about me?"

"You really need to ask?"

"No, I guess not." She sighed. "You could just take my word that I don't know anything."

He chuckled. "Ain't the way we work, girl." Gently he pushed her away from him and got slowly to his feet. "We should get back in there before laughing boy wakes up and wonders where you are."

Holding out her hand, she allowed him to pull her to her feet and lead her inside.

Quinn leaned against the dresser and watched as she slid her jeans down her long legs and he shifted as he felt his cock stiffen. While he had no intention of jumping the bitch, there was no denying just how hot she was. She was tall and lithe with small but pert tits and the most wonderfully tight ass. She looked over with a tiny smile and tucked her blonde hair behind her ear. "Like what you see, Mr Quinn?"

"Always. You're a fine looking woman." He grinned as she, unsuccessfully tried to shove Johnny to the edge of the bed. "That bed's too narrow for the two of you. Take the other one."

"What about you?" Mikey continued to try and roll Johnny over. He had always slept like a corpse.

"I'll take the chair. I'm a nomad, can sleep anywhere."

"And there's no chance of me being able to sneak past, without waking you."

"Something like that. Johnny might trust you, but we both know, first chance you get you're gonna bolt."

"I….I wont. I swear."

"Let's hope not, girl. I'd hate to mess up that pretty face of yours." He crossed the space between them in two strides and laid his hands on her shoulders. "You gotta trust the club to do the right thing." Firmly, he pushed her down onto the bed. "Get some sleep. We'll be leaving at first light."

* * *

Mikey lay on the lumpy mattress, and tried to quell the noise in her head. Apart from the occasional snore from Johnny, the room was quiet. And the only light came from her laptop. She raised herself onto her elbows. "There really is nothing there. Do you really think if I had something on the club, I'd leave it on there?"

Quinn shrugged. "Pete have access to this?"

"I guess. But if he was using it, I'm sure I'd know." She laid back and closed her eyes. "Good luck with your search. The only thing you're going to find, is just how screwed up I really am."

He didn't answer. Instead he shut down it down and closing his eyes, made himself as comfortable as possible. He couldn't shake the feeling that he was missing something. The more he looked, the stronger the feeling grew. Some of the files were password protected, but for some reason, he didn't want to alert her to the fact that he's found them. He'd get Juice to take a look when he got to Charming. He'd always trusted his instincts, and right now, they were screaming at him that something was wrong. Very wrong indeed.

* * *

Johnny sipped is coffee and grimaced. "I'll never get why you yanks prefer this shit to a decent cup of tea."

"We serve tea here, sir." The waitress gave a small smile. "Are you ready to order your breakfasts now?"

"No you serve brown water masquerading as tea." He studied the menu as Quinn and Mikey exchanged a look. "Okay. I want bacon and eggs with toast. And before you ask, I don't want pancakes or any of that shit you pour over it."

"Shit?" Quinn raised an eyebrow.

"Maple, fucking syrup. Do you have any idea how wrong that is?"

"Says the man who eats blood sausages. Johnny brother, I love you. But that shit is sick."

"Nothing wrong with black pudding. Man, what I wouldn't give for a decent fry up and a cuppa right now." He looked over to Mikey. "You need to order something, we've got a long ride ahead of us." He looked up at the waitress. "She'll have the same as me."

Mikey sighed and turned to Quinn. "Are you following us to Charming? I thought you were riding ahead."

"I was, girl. But I don't think it will hurt to have an extra pair of eyes on you."

"She wont run, bro." Johnny carefully put his cup back on the saucer and turned to the woman sitting next to him. "I still trust you, babe."

"I know." She smiled, but I can't blame Quinn. He's just being careful."

* * *

When, nine hours later, they pulled into Charming, Quinn was beginning to wonder if he'd misjudged the girl. She been easy going and compliant, actually agreeing that her only chance was to talk to Clay. That running really wasn't an option.

He watched as she climbed out of the car and slipping her hand into Johnny's walked toward the clubhouse. He hung his helmet on the handlebar and followed a short distance behind. The English Son really was the only person she trusted. And Quinn hoped that his suspicions were wrong, and that her trust wasn't misplaced.


	5. Chapter 5

I don't own Sons of Anarchy

Watching

Sometimes I wonder when it was that I forgot what my mum looked like.

I have photographs, but the woman staring back at me when I look at them is a stranger. I have no real memories of her at all.

My dad would talk about her laugh, but I have no recollection of ever hearing it. And although, there were family holidays and days out, they are vague and fuzzy in my mind.

I don't even remember the day she died.

It had been sudden. One minute she was alive, the next, she'd stepped off the kerb and her life was snuffed out. Surely something that catastrophic should have burned itself indelibly into my brain. But honestly, I remember nothing. Maybe at five years old, I was too young. Or perhaps I was so traumatised that I blocked it all out. All I know is, that after that spring day, my mum was gone and I spent more time in Johnny's house than in my own and Johnny went from being my neighbour to being my brother.

In the early days, I think he may have resented me a little, but despite this, he never complained when I climbed into his bed when I couldn't sleep after one of the bad dreams that haunted my sleep. To this day, he's the only person who I will allow to hold me as I fall asleep.

My dad remarried when I was ten, but by then my family was two doors away, and although I loved them and they loved me, my stepmum and dad seemed happier with me not being around.

After all. Who wants a freak as a kid?

* * *

Juice sighed. "Shit, man. There a hundreds of posts. Do you really expect me to go through all of them?"

"No, dick head. I want you to try and get into the ones that are password protected and see if there's anything else buried on there." Quinn downed the last of his Bud and looked over to where Johnny and Mikey were sitting talking to Clay. "I'm pretty sure if there is anything, it will be on there. Pete must have had access to her laptop." He hesitated. "And maybe others did as well."

"Why don't you just ask her what they are?"

"Because I'm pretty sure she doesn't know they're there. And if she does she ain't gonna tell us, is she? You're the computer wizard, so just do it."

* * *

"I don't know what you want me to say, Clay." Mikey carefully placed her coffee cup on the table and looked at the man sitting opposite her. "I had no idea that Pete was doing what the club said he did. As far as I was…still am concerned, he was always loyal to the club and would never do anything to hurt his brothers. All I was thinking, when I came to the States was that I needed to get away from the law, and yeah, I was scared that the club would think I had a part in all this. But honestly, how could I?"

"Pete didn't share details of club business with you?" Clay leaned forwards and she pressed herself closer to Johnny. "A lot of old ladies want full disclosure."

"Not me. And even if I did, I wouldn't rat. Please, you have to believe me. I would never do anything to hurt you."

"I'd like to take your word for it, sweetheart, but you we both know that ain't an option. We have a cabin, just out of town, it's off the grid an' as we've got the feds crawling up our asses right now, I think it's best if you stay there for now."

"Alone?"

"No, we'll make sure you always have someone with you."

"Johnny?"

"No." She looked up as the big nomad approached. "Me."

* * *

It was clear that the last resident of the cabin and cleaning products had not been friends. Mikey wrinkled up her nose and turned to the man standing in the doorway, watching her with an amused expression on his face. "Do they use this place to keep livestock?"

Quinn chuckled. "Well I have heard that Tig has some strange predilections. You're right though. This place is a shithole. I'll get the Clay to get some cleaning stuff sent over and we'll get it cleaned up."

"We?"

"Yes, we. I am capable of pushing a broom, you know." He wandered over to the kitchen area and opened a cupboard. "Looks like we'll need food too. Why don't you write a list of shit we'll need for the next few days. And you better add DVD's to that list, there's no cable out here and we'll need to keep ourselves occupied." His grin could only be described as lascivious. "There are more interesting ways to entertain ourselves of course, but I'm guessing you wont be wanting to play."

She could feel herself blushing as her eyes fell on his impressive form. Playing with him might not be the best idea, but she'd be lying if she said the thought of running her hands across that expansive chest hadn't crossed her mind. "I think we should stick to DVD's don't you." She wandered over to the bookcase and picked up a magazine. "Porn and Harleys. Why am I not surprised?"

"I've got a couple of paperbacks in my saddle bags, I'll dig them out for you later if you want."

"You read?"

"Yeah, I read. I'm not completely ignorant you know."

"No, no. That's not what I meant." She smiled. "So you clean and read. Any other skills?"

"Oh I got plenty of skills, girl." He crossed the room and stood in front of her, so close she could feel the heat of his body. "One of these days. I'll get to show you just how skilled I am."

"Is that a threat or a promise?" Mikey swallowed.

"For now, I'm keeping my options open." He ran a callused finger down her cheek until it came to rest on her throat. "How about we wait and see what Juice finds on that laptop of yours before we continue this conversation."

"And if he doesn't find anything?"

"Then you better talk fast, girl. Cos brains before bullets ain't exactly Clay's philosophy."

"Quinn….. Rane…. I haven't done anything. You have to believe me."

"Ain't me you have to convince."

For a fleeting moment she thought he was going to kiss her, but he turned abruptly and took an old exercise book from the shelf. "No point in us being uncomfortable while we wait. How about you write that list, then we get this place a bit more habitable."

She took the book from him and sat down at the table. "Why are you here, Quinn? Why not…"

"Johnny?" She nodded. "Right now, girl. I think it's best you two are apart."

"You going to tell me why?"

"All in good time. But trust me, I've got my reasons."

* * *

While Mikey and Quinn were settling into their temporary accommodation, Juice was hunched over her laptop hunting for zip files or anything else that might be hidden in the apparent chaos on the hard drive.

"Found anything?"

Juice frowned as Tig plonked himself on the sofa next to him. "Not yet. And if I keep getting interrupted, I'm not going to." He sighed. "I'm sure there's stuff buried here somewhere. It looks chaotic, but I reckon there might be something. There are files that…"

He glanced over. Tig's eyes were already starting to glaze over. "Might take a while, but if there's anything here, I'll find it." He looked over to the bar where Johnny was in deep conversation with Jax and Opie. "The girl, Michaela. What does she do?"

"She's an artist. Works as an illustrator according to Johnny. Why?"

"Dunno." Juice shrugged. "Just reckon, whoever hid these files knows their way round a computer."

"You don't think she hid them?" Tig took a cigarette from the packet on the table, ignoring Juice's frown.

"She could. But I don't see it. It's such a mess on here, I don't think she's run a diagnostics on this for…Well, forever. Who else has had access to her laptop?"

"Pete and, maybe Limey over there." He patted Juice on the shoulder and stood up. "I'll leave you to keep looking, you want me to send the grunt out for food?"

"Nah, I'm good." He looked up. "Talk to Johnny, I think he might know more about this than he's letting on."

"You got it, bro. Later."

* * *

No matter how he tried, Quinn couldn't get comfortable. Not only was the sofa he was trying to sleep on, too short, but there were more lumps than actual sofa. Finally, after trying and failing to sleep for over two hours, he admitted defeat and headed to the bedroom where Mikey was sleeping on the big, wide and comfortable bed. Without turning on the light, he stripped down to his boxers and carefully climbed in next to her. Immediately, she stiffened. "Quinn?"

"Who'd you think it'd be?" He laid back and closed his eyes. "Ain't no way I'm gonna be able to sleep on that sofa. Not a young man any more, only so many nights I can go without sleep."

"Okay." She sat up and pulled the covers.

"Where d'ya think you're going?"

"To sleep on the sofa."

Quinn gently, but firmly grabbed her arm. "Lay yourself back down, girl. I am capable of sleeping in the same bed as a woman without jumping her."

Reluctantly, she lay back down. "So when was the last time you actually slept with a woman without fucking her?"

He opened his eyes. "Not sure I ever have. Still there's a first time for everything." He reached over and kissed her cheek. "Try an' get some sleep. G'night."

Like every other scrap of furniture in the cabin, the bed had a previous life. Despite this, it was wonderfully comfortable and when, eight hours later, Quinn opened his eyes, he felt more rested than he had done in ages. Mikey stirred behind him and a slender arm found it's way around his waist as she snuggled closer. Ignoring the need to pee, he didn't move, not wanting to disturb her, and enjoying the feeling of her body pressed against his back. Softly he touched her fingers. Maybe she was beginning to trust him, he hoped so. If his suspicions were right, she was going to need a friend. And for reasons he didn't quite understand, he wanted that friend to be him.


	6. Chapter 6

I don't own sons of Anarchy

Watching

Sometimes I wonder if I dwell too much on the past.

I don't have many regrets, and I try to learn from past mistakes. The person I am now, bears no resemblance to the little girl I once was.

After I quit school, I managed to get a place at the local college, and no longer hindered by the taunts of the bitches at school, worked hard to get the grades I needed to get into art school. I grew physically too, and by the time I reached eighteen that little mousy kid had disappeared and in her place was something completely different.

I know that men like the way I look, and although I'm hardly what you could call a femme fatale, I can, if I have to, use my looks to win guys over.

I know how to put up a front, to fight for what I believe is right. And I swear on everything I hold dear, I will never let anyone push me around again.

But if you scratch the surface, the freak's still there. But now she has claws and she will scratch back.

* * *

"Anything?" Clay sat down heavily. "You've had two days, juice. I can't keep the bitch holed up forever, and Johnny's getting restless."

Juice gritted his teeth. "I'm sorry boss. All the password protected files are just more of the same. I dunno why, but for some reason she was using a password and then stopped."

"So you're saying there's nothing there?"

"No, boss. I'm saying I haven't found anything. I'm running a piece of software that's searching for any stuff that might be buried. It's gonna take a while, but I should know by tomorrow at the latest."

"Right." Clay stood. "Stay on it. I'm gonna go up to the cabin and talk to the girl. I still think she could be holding out on us."

"Okay." Juice looked up. "Clay, I'm pretty sure she doesn't know anything. All this is just personal stuff."

"Let's hope for her sake you're right." He looked over to the bar. "Tig, you're with me."

"'Kay boss." Tig swallowed the last of his coffee, and followed his president outside.

The girl was getting twitchy, and if he was honest, so was Quinn. They may have only been in the cabin for two days, but it was hard to keep her mind off her possible fate. She looked up from where she was curled up on the sofa, reading one of the books he had lent her, and gave a tiny smile. "You hungry? I can fix us some lunch."

"Nah, you stay there, girl. I'll get it." He grinned. "Yeah, before you ask, I can cook too. How's the book by the way?"

"Good. It's not something I'd normally read, but I'm enjoying it." She smiled again. "Reacher is very you."

"You calling me predictable?"

She shrugged. "Well, I don't see you reading Wuthering Heights."

He chuckled. "Okay, I'll give you that. I hope you like pasta, it's all I can cook."

"Pasta's fine." She watched as he turned to leave. "Thanks. I couldn't ask for a better jailer."

Shaking his head, he headed into the tiny kitchen. She was right, of course. That was exactly what he was. Although she was becoming more relaxed around him, she knew as well as him, that if she made a run for it, he wouldn't hesitate in putting a bullet through her head. Shit. He really hoped he wouldn't have to do that.

His phone buzzed. "Clay? Sure thing, bro…Okay. See you in a bit." He turned to the girl on the sofa. "Looks like lunch will have to wait. Clay's on his way over."

She paled. "Did he say why?"

"Just wants to talk." He crossed the room and sat down next to her. "Just answer his questions and tell him what you know."

"But I don't know anything." He could hear the hysteria in her voice. "Why can't you all just believe me?"

"Too much at stake, girl. The guys in England are being held on conspiracy charges. That means the law will be looking to prove they were involved in smuggling guns, and we both know that involves charters here. For all we know you could go straight to the feds."

"With what? And honestly, Quinn. What's in it for me?" She took a deep shuddering breath. "I'm not a rat, and I didn't steal from the club."

"For what it's worth, I believe you. But I don't think Pete was working alone. He was charter secretary for years, and the amount he skimmed probably runs into tens of thousands. There are no bank accounts in his name and we couldn't find evidence of any safety deposit boxes. We've looked into your accounts and it isn't there and if he was spending big, it would have been noticed." He shrugged. "The club is just going through a process of elimination."

"And I'm top of the list."

"You were his old lady, and you ran. That does kinda make you the number one suspect." He reached out to tuck a stray hair behind her ear, frowning as she flinched. "Relax, I ain't gonna hurt ya."

"Unless Clay gives the order."

Quinn shrugged, but said nothing. She may well have been innocent in all of this, but she wasn't ignorant when it came to how the club operated. If she had been before, the death of her old man quickly changed all that. He gave her hand a squeeze and as the sound of Harleys grew closer, then stood and walked to the door.

* * *

It had been intimidating enough sitting opposite Clay in the clubhouse, but at least she'd had Johnny for moral support. But here in the cabin, facing the Redwood president at the rickety old dining table, she was, frankly, terrified. He smiled, which did nothing to reassure her. "Thought we should have a little chat, sweetheart."

"Okay." She looked over to Quinn, but his stare was stony and she knew she'd get no help there. "What do you want me to say?"

"How about you start by telling me about Pete. Are you honestly telling me you had no idea he was skimming club funds?"

"Of course I didn't. I'm not saying he was perfect, and things weren't that great between us when he…. When the club…." She looked at the big gaudy ring she still wore on her left hand and blinked as a tear rolled down her cheek. "Money was tight most of the time and he resented that I earned more than him. And yeah, there was times when he'd have more money in his pocket than others, but I never thought anything of it." Again she glanced at Quinn and the guy with the crazy eyes standing next to him. "I've lost everything. My home, my job…. My old man. I'm the victim here, Clay."

"You blame the club?"

She shrugged. "Not enough to rat." She looked at the man opposite her and her eyes met his. "The club killed my husband. And although I can't wrap my head around what he's supposed to have done. If he did, he knew the risks."

"You think he was innocent?"

"I don't know what to think."

* * *

Quinn leaned on the wall watching their exchange. He couldn't help but to be impressed by the way she handled herself. Despite being obviously terrified, she managed to answer Clays questions honestly and calmly. Every so often she would look over to him for reassurance. He wished he could offer it, and fought the urge to tell Clay to back off her. That wasn't an option, though, so he kept his expression impassive and watched as Clay continued to question her about her relationship with Pete and the club.

"You say you're broke, how did you get the money together to come over here?"

She shrugged. "I maxed out my credit card and sold everything I own. I'm pretty sure you've looked into my finances. You probably know more about how much money I have than I do."

Clay nodded. "Did Johnny help out?"

"Johnny? No. He didn't know where I was, until I contacted him." She frowned. "He would never have helped me to run from the club."

"Even though he's your friend?"

"He's my friend, but the club will always come first. Why are you asking about Johnny? He has nothing to do with this."

Ignoring her question, Clay continued. "Care to tell me why some of the posts on your laptop were password protected and others not."

She sighed. "I've always kept a diary. When I first got the laptop, I used a password because it's personal stuff. Pete thought I was hiding stuff from him, so I stopped using one, I… I didn't want him not to trust me."

"And the stuff hidden on your hard drive?"

"There isn't anything."

"Juice thinks there is."

"Well if there is, I didn't put it there."

"If I cut you loose, what will you do?"

"I don't know. Johnny wants me to go back with him, but there's nothing for me there any more. Maybe I'll stay here." She looked back up at Quinn. "I haven't given the future much thought." She smiled as his eyes met hers. "Do I have one?"

Clay shrugged his huge shoulders. "Seems like you got more than one of my brothers in your corner. If you're telling the truth, I'd say you got a future sweetheart."

"I am. I just don't know how to prove it."

"We'll find the proof." Clay pushed his chair back and stood up. "You got everything you need."

She nodded and watched as flanked by Quinn and his Sergeant at arms, headed for the door. Quinn turned. "I'll be back in a sec, girl." Then followed the two men outside.

Clay mounted his bike and looked over at the nomad. "You believe her?"

"I'm inclined to, yeah. She's scared, but I don't think she's lying."

Tig snorted. "You wouldn't be the first to get suckered by some gash."

"No brother, I wouldn't. But, unlike you, I think before I pull the trigger. If I'm wrong." He shrugged. "I'll put a bullet in her myself."

* * *

Mikey pushed the pasta around her plate without any real enthusiasm, then dropped her fork onto the plate. Quinn frowned. "Don't you like it?"

"It's fine. I just feel too sick to eat."

He had to force down the urge to grab her and pull her into his arms, she seemed so small and vulnerable. But Tig was right. He couldn't let himself get sucked in by her charms. Instead he reached across the table and touched her hand. "Wish I could tell you that everything's gonna be okay, girl."

"But you can't."

"No I can't. I can make sure you get a fair hearing though."

"Thank you." She sighed. "I wish… No forget it."

"How about we have this conversation some other time." He stood and picked up her plate. "Seeing as you don't like my delicious pasta bake. How about we crack open that bottle of Jack and watch a movie?"

Her smile didn't quite reach her eyes. "Sure why not."


	7. Chapter 7

I don't own Sons of Anarchy

Watching

What is normal?

Most of my formative years were spent trying to be normal. I assumed that if I was, I'd be happier. That if I was less 'different' my life would be easier. I think to some degree, I was right.

Unfortunately, I could never quite pin down what 'normal' was. Was it to marry some guy in a suit with a regular nine to five job in an office? Have two kids and settle down in my house in the suburbs? That seemed like it could be the answer, but I didn't actually know any families like that. And, of course, no matter how I spun it, I couldn't see me fitting into that scenario. Nice respectable men with steady jobs wouldn't want to be saddled with someone like me, and even if I could keep a lid on my issues and screwed it down tight. It would never be tight enough. Sooner or later the freak would show herself.

I was never going to be a lady who lunched. What the fuck would I talk about?

As for kids. Well, I was too fucked up for them.

Even in art school, surrounded by creative, bohemian types, I was different. There, it felt like they were the pretenders. These kids from their nice middle class backgrounds, in their charity shop clothes, rebelling against mummy and daddy. It was all a game to them, a diversion. Something to do before, they too settled into a life of middle class respectability.

As I watched their antics and listened to their conversations I grew to despise them. They didn't have to work two jobs. They had no idea what it was like to be too exhausted to eat. They never had to choose between buying artist's materials or food.

I had boyfriends, but they never stuck around for long. My fault, I think. I was too cold, too distant, and could never really let them in.

Even now, with Pete, I hold back. He's convinced I'm cheating or hiding something from him. I'm trying really hard to make this work. I want it to so much, but I just don't know how.

* * *

"Jesus, Tig. Leave the fucking thing alone." Juice pushed him out of the way and sat back down.

"Relax, I ain't touched anything. I was just curious." He frowned. "Is this shit all you've found?"

"No." Juice clicked again. "I found this."

"Oh shit." Tig's eyes widened. There on the screen were lists. Of names, as well as dates and shipping numbers, all pertaining to the gun smuggling operation. "This shit goes back years. Oh fuck, Clay is going to go ape. If the feds get hold of this, we ain't never getting out. That's if the IRA don't off us first." He leaned back and rubbed his forehead. "Guess that gash was our rat all along."

"No, Tig. I don't think she is. Someone is trying to set her up. If she was smart enough to hide all this on here, she'd know that it could be found. Even if Pete had told her, which I doubt, by the way. She wouldn't incriminate herself." Juice sighed. "Either he left it on here in the hope that he would save his sorry skin, or…." He looked over to where Johnny was playing pool with Piney. "Someone else did."

* * *

Quinn stretched out his legs and rested them on the coffee table in front of him. He glanced over at the girls sitting crossed legged at the other end of the sofa, sketching away in the old exercise book. The movie was boring and she'd quickly lost interest. Despite this, he was enjoying just sitting quietly in front of the ancient TV with a glass of Jack and a joint. She was easy company, and didn't feel the need to fill the silence with mindless chatter. She looked up and smiled quizzically. "What?"

He shrugged. "You not drinking?" He indicated to the still full glass in front of her.

"Not much of a drinker." She shook her head as he passed her the joint. "Not much of a smoker either."

"Do you have any vices?"

"Apart from stealing from the club and being a rat, you mean?"

He frowned. "Ain't what I meant."

"I know. I'm sorry. I just want all this to go away, so I can get on with my life."

She laid the book on the table and he picked it up. "Wow." She'd been sketching him. "This is awesome, it looks just like me. Can I keep it?"

"Sure." She shrugged. "You're an interesting subject."

"Am I? I thought I was just an ugly fucker."

"Oh no. You're not ugly. There's a lot of character in your face. I like it."

"I like your face too." He grinned. "Rest of you ain't bad either."

She laughed. "You're quite the charmer, Rane Quinn."

"I try, girl. But I'm only saying it as I see it."

"That's because you're not looking properly."

He shook is head. "I'm looking pretty fucking close."

She smiled a little sadly before changing the subject. "Do you have an old lady? Is there someone waiting for you back home?"

"Don't even have a home to speak of. I did once, a long time ago. I had it all. House, wife, kids."

"What happened?"

"What always happens? She was stuck at home with the kids and I was a selfish asshole spending all my time with the club. She put up with it for five years, but in the end she wanted more than I was prepared to give."

"You let her go?"

"Of course. I loved her. Still do, if I'm honest. But we were making each other miserable. The kids are grown up now, but I still see them now and again."

"And your ex?"

"She remarried. Haven't seen her for years. According to the kids, she's happy."

"Don't you get lonely?"

"Not really. I regret not being around for my kids, but I'm never gonna be a family man. Been nomad for over fifteen years. It suits me."

Mikey sighed. "Me and Pete were together for ten years, on and off."

"You miss him? Shit. Stupid question. Of course you do."

"You want the truth?" She uncrossed her legs and sat up straighter. "Being with him was hard. When it was good, it was amazing. But he was hard to live with and I spent a lot of time walking on eggshells. I tried to leave, but he wouldn't let me. Despite that, I do miss him and he didn't deserve what happened to him." Quinn opened his mouth to speak, but she raised her hand to silence him. "You say he was a rat, and rats have to die. But he was beaten, tortured. I can't forgive the club for that." She lowered her eyes. "That's what will happen to me, isn't it?"

"The club is just trying to protect itself. Pete knew what would happen."

"What if the club was wrong? It wont bring him back will it."

"The club wasn't wrong, Mikey. You know that. I know this is hard for you. But your ol' man betrayed the club." His cell buzzed and he checked the ID. "I gotta take this. Stay there." Getting up, he walked into the bedroom. "Tig, brother. What's up?"

When he walked back into the living room, his face was grim. "Okay, Michaela. I think you an' me are going to have to have a little talk."

She swallowed. "That guy…Juice? He found something?"

"Oh, he found something all right." He sat down. "Right now, Clay is still prepared to give you the benefit of the doubt. But you have to be straight with me, girl. I ain't exaggerating when I say your life is on the line right now."

"I didn't put anything on there. Please believe me. All I've ever used that laptop for is my journal and my artwork."

"So who else could have done it?"

"I don't know."

"Not good enough. What about Pete?"

"I… I guess, he could. But why would he do that?"

"Anyone else?"

"No, unless maybe….. No."

"What did I just say to you about being straight with me? Do you not understand what's at stake here?" He stood back up. "Clay will have you killed. This is your last chance to prove your innocence."

"Johnny." It was barely a whisper.

"Johnny has had access to your laptop?"

"Me and Pete had been fighting. I stayed at Johnny's for a while. His PC was playing up so he borrowed mine. It was only for about a week."

"Any other times?"

"I don't know. Maybe, Pete was his best friend, so he was round our place a lot, often when I was out. He could have used it then, I suppose. But Johnny would never…. Peter was his best friend and he's been like a brother to me." She put her head in her hands. "No not Johnny."

Quinn squatted in front of her and pulled her hands away from her face. "Tell me why you never believed that Pete betrayed the club."

"It was his family. The only family he ever had." She looked into his eyes. "I told Clay, and I will tell you the same thing. Pete wasn't perfect. Hell, he was an arsehole at times. But he was loyal to the club. And if I'm honest, I don't think he was smart enough to steal from the club and cover his tracks for so long. He only got the secretary gig in the first place because no one else wanted it." She took a deep breath. "I know he struggled to balance the books sometimes and would get Johnny to help him, but…"

"You have to tell Clay this."

"I can't. Johnny is my friend."

"It's him or you, girl." He stood, grimacing as his knees cracked. "I'm gonna call Clay."

"Quinn…. Rane. Can this wait till the morning? Please. I need some time to think about this."

"Sorry, this isn't your call." He opened his cell. "Clay? You at the clubhouse? I'm bringing her in."


	8. Chapter 8

I don't own Sons of Anarchy

Watching

Trust.

Not something I do easily. It's hard to trust when you're always waiting for the other shoe to drop. Waiting for that hidden agenda that you know your, so called friends have, to show itself.

I learned at a young age, that it was best not to get too close to anyone. After all, no one can hurt you if you don't let them in.

At school the few friends I had, deserted me as soon as the top bitches began to target me. I don't blame them, really. After all I was hardly worth defending.

Johnny was different. He was my champion. He never let me down.

All through my childhood, he was there, watching my back, fighting my corner.

I didn't hesitate to move up to Manchester when he suggested it. And when he said the club would look out for me. That I was family, and they always took care of family, I believed him.

He never told me that Pete had a temper, or that he'd cheat on me. He assured me that I would be happy and I never once doubted him.

* * *

Juice coughed as he was enveloped in the smoke from his president's cigar. "I'm pretty sure if there was any bank details on here, I'd have found 'em. I did look into Johnny's finances, though, and I think we might have something. He's opened several accounts over the last few years, all of them active. A lot of the deposits are cash, but they never stay in one account for long." He frowned. "The money moves around for a while, then seems to disappear."

Clay flexed his hand. "What sort of amounts are we looking at?"

"Not huge amounts. Couple of thou, at a time. But the deposits are pretty regular, and it's starting to add up to a lot of money."

"Could it be earnings? The charter gets a lot of security work."

"Some. But not all."

"You think him and Pete were in on this together? And what about the girl?"

"Honestly? I don't know. I don't think she left that shit on here. Not unless she was really stupid. It would have been easy to go into wit pro, or just disappear, but she didn't. She doesn't act as if she's guilty, and Quinn believes her."

"Quinn just wants to get his dick wet." They both looked up as Tig pulled out a low stool and sat opposite them. "Personally I don't trust the gash. She's playing him."

"I dunno, Tig." Juice shook his head. "I think she's being straight with us. And Quinn's no fool. It wouldn't kill you to stop judging others by your own standards."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning. If you were in that cabin you'd be in her panties at the first opportunity."

"Oh, I'd fuck her all right." He leered. "Pretty sure she wouldn't put up a fight either."

"Whatever." Rolling his eyes, the younger man turned to his president. "This is Johnny, Clay. I'm sure of it."

"Well we'll soon find out. Tig, you and Hap take Limey to the warehouse and wait for us there. Tell him we got a job for him. No need to spook him. Quinn's bringing the girl. He'll meet you there."

"What about you.?" Tig stood and beckoned over the Tacoma son.

"I'm gonna make a couple of calls, then I'll be there."

"Okay, boss. See you there." He turned and headed for the door. "Hap, Limey. You two are with me."

* * *

Quinn sat astride his bike was waited patiently as she fumbled with strap on her helmet. "Here." He reached out to help her, frowning as, again she flinched. "Let me help you with that." She was terrified, it was written all over her. And as he tightened the strap, he could feel her tremble. "Just tell Clay what you told me. You'll be fine."

She gave a hollow, humourless laugh. "You almost sound like you believe that." She sniffed, and roughly brushed away a tear. "I'll live but my oldest and closest friend will die. "No matter how you spin that, Quinn. I'm not going to be fine."

He really had no answer to that, so turned and started the engine.

She was so tense that she made it hard to ride. Telling her to relax wasn't really an option so he dropped his speed and with his left hand reached down and gave her thigh, what he hoped was a reassuring squeeze. Fortunately, it was only a short distance from the cabin to the warehouse, and after a mere fifteen minutes, they pulled up outside.

"I can't do this." She was so pale and looked like she was at the point of collapse.

Gently, so as not to spook her more, he took her arm. "You really ain't got a choice girl."

"I know." She took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. "Fuck it. Let's get this done."

The warehouse appeared empty as Quinn led her, past sacks of birdseed to a room at the back of the building, but she had seen the bikes outside and knew what awaited her. Stuffing her hands into her jeans pockets in an attempt to stop them shaking she reluctantly followed the big nomad inside.

There, in the corner of the room, his hands and feet bound, her friend sat on an old office chair. It was clear he'd put up a fight. Tig had a bloody nose and he was bleeding profusely from a cut just above his eye. He looked up and their eyes met.

"Oh shit! Johnny." She tried to go to him were halted by a huge hand grabbing her upper arm. "Please, he's hurt."

And soon he was going to be dead. Quinn said nothing but tightened his grip. Happy pushed himself away from the wall he was leaning on, and kicked a chair towards her. "Sit."

"I…"

"SIT"

Knowing she had no choice but to comply, she sat down. Quinn put his hand on her shoulder, whether to keep her in place, or to reassure her, she wasn't sure.

"Now here's the deal." Tig pulled out a cigarette and lit it. "You are going to sit nice and quiet, while we wait for Clay. You got that?"

She nodded and Quinn gave her shoulder a tiny squeeze. Tig frowned. "Why don't you go and wait outside, brother?"

"I'll wait here." Mikey felt herself sag. "He was still in her corner."

She had no idea how long they had been waiting when Clay and two more sons walked in. She guessed it was probably only minutes, but it felt like forever. He walked over to a long wooden table and leaned against it. "Now, folks. We all know why we're here and we all know that not everyone will be walking out." He turned to Johnny. "I've been on the phone to Manchester. Looks like the law cut the guys loose, due to lack of evidence. Of course that don't make things any easier for you. There's a lot of incriminating evidence on that girl's laptop, and I want to know who put it there. Was it you?"

"No! Fuck, man. I'm no rat."

"You then?" He turned to Mikey.

"No." It was barely a whisper.

"Well, let's suppose it was Pete. Let's suppose he was the one ripping off the club. Which one of you was helping him? Because the general consensus is that he was too much of a dumb motherfucker to work alone." Clay folded his arms. "We've had a look into both of your finances and, Johnny boy, things aren't looking good for you."

"What? I haven't good any money. If you've seen my bank account, you know that."

"And the other accounts?"

"What other accounts?"

"You're telling me you don't have any other accounts? Well in that case." He pushed himself away from the table. "Someone must have opened them in your name." He bent over Mikey and unsheathed his knife. "Such a pretty face too. Pity your boyfriend is happy for you to take the fall."

"No! Wait!" Johnny struggled against his restraints. "Mikey had nothing to do with this."

"So it was you?"

"No… I. Please Clay. You're making a mistake."

"Am I?" He looked around the room. "No I don't believe I am. The way I see it. It was either you or her. Fuck it, I'm tired of all this pussy footing around. Hap?"

"Yeah boss?"

"Kill her."

Happy pulled out his nine millimetre and took a step towards her. She closed her eyes. "Please, Johnny. You promised you wouldn't let then hurt me."

"Happy. Stop!" Johnny would have tipped the chair, had Tig not have been standing behind him, pushing him back into his seat. "Stop! Okay, okay. It was me. I took the money."

"Did you rat?"

"I…. I. Yes. Shit, Hap. Put the fucking gun away. Let her go."

Happy looked away from Mikey. "Clay?"

Time stood still. All Mikey was aware of was the man struggling in the chair in front of her and Quinn's hands gripping her shoulders. She felt him shift "Clay."

Clay turned and looked at him. "You think she's on the level?"

"Yeah I do. I told Tig an' tell you too. If I'm wrong, I'll kill her myself."

Clay nodded. "Get her out of here. Take her back to the cabin." He pointed his finger at her. "I want you to stick around for a while. You're not out of the woods yet."

She opened her mouth, then closed it again as Quinn, again squeezed her shoulder. "C'mon, girl, we should leave… Now." He slid his hands down to her upper arms and forced her to her feet. "Now, Michaela."

Trance like, she allowed him to guide her outside to his bike. He turned her round to face him and looked into her eyes. "I just put my reputation on the line back there. If I find out you've been playing me. I swear to god I will squeeze the life out of you with my bare hands. Do you understand?"

She nodded.

"Okay then. Let's get back to the cabin, before Clay changes his mind."


	9. Chapter 9

I don't own sons of anarchy

Watching

My friend died yesterday.

There are so many things I should be feeling right now. Anger at his betrayal. Gratitude for the sacrifice he made. Fear of what the future holds without him. I have lost my anchor, my rock. Guilt, that I'm the one still here.

Maybe I do feel those things, but they're so wrapped up in this ball of pain that has lodged itself in my heart, that I can't find them.

I hurt so bad, I don't know what to do. I want to scream, to cry until I have no more tears. But I can't. The tears wont come, and I'm afraid that if I start to scream, I'll never stop.

Johnny has gone, and I'm all alone.

* * *

"Michaela."

"I know, I'm sorry." Reluctantly, she tore the page from the exercise book and threw it onto the fire. "I just needed to write it down. I needed to see the words."

They had been back in the cabin for nearly two days now, and it was the first time she'd spoken to him. She hadn't eaten the food he'd made and although she'd laid on the bed next to him, he knew she hadn't slept.

"Mikey, look at me." Quinn touched her arm. "You are going to be okay."

"Am I? How? How am I going to be okay? Even if Clay decides I don't pose a threat and cuts me loose. What am I supposed to do?" She turned to face him. "Who do I go to? I don't have anyone. I don't even have enough money to get back home. Not that I have a home to go to. C'mon, you have all the answers. Tell me, Rane. How is any of this ever going to be okay?"

"The club…."

"The club! Ha! The club is the reason for all this. The club killed my old man and my best friend. Do you really think I want anything from your precious, fucking club? I'd rather sleep on the streets and turn tricks than accept help from any of you."

"You're hurting, girl. I get that. But…"

"No you don't. You have know idea how I feel right now."

"Tell me." He touched her cheek, ignoring that involuntary flinch that was becoming so familiar. "C'mon Michaela. Tell me what you're feeling right now."

"It hurts." She stepped back. "It hurts so much. Every part of me is filled with so much pain. I…. I don't know what I do with it. I just want to curl up and die. I can't live with this."

"Yes you can. Johnny betrayed you. He betrayed all of us. But in the end he did right by you. He saved your life."

"Right now, I wish he hadn't."

"No you don't. This pain you're feeling will go away. You're young, you're talented and you're alive."

"How do I make it go away?"

"Hit me."

"What?"

"Hit me. Show me how much it hurts."

"I can't."

"Yes you can." He stepped closer, looming over her. Getting into her space. "I am the club, Mikey. I killed your old man. I killed your friend. C'mon. Show me how much you hate me right now." He pushed her. Not hard, but enough to make her take a step back. "C'mon, bitch. Show me."

She swung her fist. There was no finesse or real power, but she caught him a glancing blow on the jaw. He laughed. "I said hit me, bitch."

Once she started, she couldn't stop. Blow after blow, she pounded her fists into him. His face, his chest, his arms. The ring on her left hand caught his lip, splitting it open, but still he kept his arms by his side. Making no attempt to stop the onslaught. Only when her last ounce of energy was spent and she felt her knees start to buckle, did he reach out and pull her, sobbing, to his chest. "That's it girl, let it out. I got ya."

She must have cried herself to sleep. Mikey opened her eyes. She was in bed, Quinn's arms still wrapped tightly around her. She waited for that familiar feeling of panic she always felt when being held, but to her surprise, realised that it wasn't there. Being held against his chest, in those enormous arms was okay. Nice even.

Soothed by the steady beat of his heart, she closed her eyes and allowed herself to drift back to sleep.

Quinn felt her stir, but kept his eyes closed and his breathing even. He knew if she realised he was awake, she'd stiffen and try to escape his hold, and he wasn't ready to let her go just yet.

When, much later, the sound of birdsong woke him, he was alone. She'd managed to get out of bed without disturbing him. He lay there, in the dim light, listening to her moving around the kitchen. There was no doubt in his mind that she'd get through this. There was a toughness about her. A hidden reserve of strength that she would draw on when necessary. He'd seen it in the way she carried herself, when dealing with Clay and, he smiled as he ran his finger along his swollen bottom lip, last night, he'd felt it. A lesser bitch would have fallen apart, but not Mikey. Yesterday, she'd come close, and she had a long way to go before she'd be back to her old self, whatever that was. But he knew she'd get there.

He sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. "Hey Mikey, girl. I hope you got that breakfast cooking, I could eat a horse."

"On it." She looked up and smiled as he shuffled into the kitchen, running his fingers through his hair. "Sorry about the lip."

He shrugged and looked over at the bacon she was frying. "Have I got time for a quick shower? I think I need to check for other injuries."

"Ha, funny guy. Yeah, if you're really quick."

As she watched him head for the shower, Mikey realised he hadn't asked her if she was okay. Anybody else would have done that, but not Quinn. He knew she wasn't. "Hey, Rane." He turned. "Thanks for… Well you know."

He shook his head. "Weren't nothing. Don't let the bacon burn, I'll be back in a bit."

As they ate, Mikey was aware of his eyes on her, watching her intently. She looked up. "I'm okay."

He said nothing, instead he stood and took up their, now empty, plates to the sink, then turned to face her. "C'mere."

Slowly, she stood and walked towards him until she was so close they almost touched. "Rane?"

"C'mere."

He pulled her into his arms, and she felt her own snake around his waist. "Rane, I.. I.."

"S'okay, girl. I'll take care of you."

"How?"

With a gentleness she wouldn't have believed possible, lifting her chin with one finger, he bent and kissed her. "Only way I know how."

She stiffened and pushed herself away from him. "No, I can't."

"Yes you can. What's stopping you?"

"Everything." She ran her fingers through her hair. "You really think you can fix me with a fuck? Jesus! How arrogant are you?"

"Ain't arrogance, girl. I ain't proposing to fix you. You think us fucking will make you feel worse?"

She shook her head. "No."

He lifted her chin again, forcing her to look in his eyes. "Shit that's happened to you, ain't gonna go away any time soon. But I've been watching you, you're shutting down. Trying to stop yourself from feeling. That shit ain't healthy."

"Dear god, spare me from the home spun psychology. I know it's not healthy, Rane. Neither is wanting to rip the heart from my chest." She stepped back. "I'm pretty sure your offer to fuck me isn't completely altruistic, but even if it was, it's probably the dumbest idea ever."

"Why?"

"Why? Because you don't know me. I don't know you."

"You don't trust me." That statement again.

"No. No I don't. You know as well as me, that if Clay made that call, you wouldn't hesitate to blow my brains out."

"I'd hesitate."

"But you'd do it."

"Yeah."

"Yet you want to fuck me, and you expect me to want to fuck you."

He grinned. "Well when you put it like that." Taking her hand, he pulled her close again and kissed her forehead. "But I know you better than you think."

"Rane." She rested her head against his chest. "Do you think you could just hold me again for a while?"

"Sure, baby." He smiled as he felt her relax against him. "Whatever you need."

Mikey closed her eyes. She shouldn't feel this safe. He had told her that if he had to, he would kill her. Somehow though, the fact that he'd never pretended otherwise, made it easier. He liked her, and if she was honest, she liked him. There was something about this big nomad. He was upfront and honest. He'd been prepared to give her the benefit of the doubt, when everyone else would have found her guilty. He was no fool though. Like her, he watched. And like her he learned.

"You don't know me, Rane." She buried her face into his chest. He smelled of soap. "No one does."

He ran his hand down her long blonde hair. For the past five days they had been alone together. In that time she wore no make up and slobbed around in sweat pants and baggy tea shirts. After washing her hair she'd just let it dry naturally and it felt soft and silky. She really had no idea just how hot she was, how effortlessly beautiful she was. "What you hiding, girl? Why wont you let anyone in?"

She didn't answer, she just wrapped her arms around his waist and enjoyed feeling close to him.

They couldn't stay like this for ever. Reluctantly they pulled apart and Quinn turned back to the sink and turned on the taps. "I'll wash you can dry."

She picked up the tea towel. "How long will I have to stay here?"

"Not sure. A few days, a week maybe."

"More?"

He shrugged. "While the feds are sniffing around, Clay wants to keep you here. Don't worry, they'll move on eventually."

"Will you stay?"

"You want me to?"

She nodded.

"Sure, I'll stay. There's worse things I could be doing than watching you."

"Thank you." She picked up a plate. "I am going a bit stir crazy though, could we go out? Just for a ride?"

"Sure, why not."

* * *

Shit, he'd missed this. Quinn lived to ride, and those few days out of the saddle had felt like an eternity. He grinned as she urged him to go faster. The tension filled girl that had sat behind him two days ago had disappeared, and in her place was someone who loved it as much as him. After two hours of riding along little used back roads he pulled over at a picnic area in a small wooded area and led her to a picnic table. "Sit." She sat. "Down there." He pointed to a road that snaked below them. "About a mile west of here, is a bus stop." He reached into his inside pocket and handed her a wad of notes and her passport. "There's enough there to get you to New York and a flight to London."

"If I take them what will happen?"

He shrugged. "Clay'll be pissed."

"Will he send anyone after me?"

Again he shrugged. "Maybe."

"You?"

He shook his head. "No."

She passed them back to him. "I'm not running. I don't want to spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder."

He gave a half smile, and she got the feeling she'd passed some sort of test. "Okay. If you're gonna stick around, how 'bout we go get a beer?"

As she followed him back to his bike, she reached out and touched his hand. "Thank you. For trusting me."

He stopped and turned back to face her. "Oh you got a way to go before I trust you, darling."

"So why?"

"Wanted to see what you'd do, I guess. C'mon, let's get that beer."

"Rane. Wait." She smiled. "C'mere."

He didn't need telling twice. Cupping her face in his hands, he kissed her.

He was wasn't so gentle this time. This time, he was more forceful. Grabbing a handful of her hair, he pulled her head back and began kissing her throat. She moaned and clutched his wife beater. Slowly, all the time kissing and biting her neck he inched her back to the picnic table. Once there, he picked her up and sitting her on the table, pulled her tee shirt up over her head and licked the tip of his tongue across her nipple while trying to pull those ugly sweat pants down. "Gimme a hand here girl." Eagerly she complied, raising her self up enough for him to pull them down, then laid back as his mouth worked it's way slowly down her body.

Her hands grabbed his hair the instant his tongue touched her clit. He'd taken a million years to get there and now he was, she wasn't going to let him get away. Greedily he began to feast on her. Sucking, licking and biting in equal measure as she writhed and moaned. He slid first one, then two fingers inside her. She was tight and wet. Perfect. He looked up and his eyes met hers. With her clit held gently between his teeth, he grinned and began moving his hand, all the time his eyes locked onto hers, until her head fell back and he felt her walls tighten around him. She didn't scream or yell, in fact apart from the softest of moans she'd been almost completely silent. After a lifetime of theatrics from his usual fare of clubhouse whores, she was like a breath of fresh air. Of course he never went down on those either.

Still trapped inside his jeans, his cock twitched impatiently and pulling away he unbuckled his belt and pulled them down to his knees. She grinned and, without a word rolled over and positioned herself so she was bending over the table. He pulled a condom from his pocket, slipped it on, then holding onto the tops of her thighs, he slowly pushed himself inside her and began to move, slowly at first, then faster and harder, his fingers digging into her thighs, slamming into her as he felt himself come hard and fast.

He all but collapsed on to the bench and pulling off the condom, threw it in the nearby bin. He pulled up his jeans and lit a cigarette while she got herself dressed. Sliding off the table and onto the bench beside him, she took the cigarette from between his fingers and leaning against his arm, took a long drag.

"You okay, girl?"

"Yeah. That was nice."

"Nice? Getting fucked by Rane Quinn isn't nice. It's fucking amazing."

"Okay. That was fucking amazing." She kissed his cheek. "Happy now."

He took her hand and brought it up to his lips. "You still want that beer?"

She smiled. "Sure why not."


	10. Chapter 10

I don't own sons of anarchy

Watching

I love sex.

The only time I really feel connected to a person is when they're fucking me. The only time I allow my self to completely drop my guard is when they're inside me. I love to relish every single sensation. The feeling of skin on skin, how different parts of my body reacts to touch in different ways. I Love the smell, the taste of sex. I love how it sounds.

The line between pleasure and pain becomes blurred. Sensations are heightened yet I'm oblivious to everything around me. That oh so sweet spot, that moment when I think I just might die, it hurts so much, yet at the same time feels exquisite. That indescribable moment when nothing matters as wave after wave of pure unadulterated pleasure washes over me. Silencing the noise in my head.

Sex is the glue that holds me and Pete together. If I'm honest it's all we have. The only time he's not a completely selfish arsehole is when he's fucking me.

I'm not enough for him of course. He still goes elsewhere.

* * *

"Man, I gotta tap that." Tig leaned back, his hand on his crotch. "If Quinn ain't banging her, he's missing a treat."

Juice rolled his eyes. "Fuck man, you're obsessed. I told you. There's nothing else to find."

"Yeah there is, you just ain't looking for the right things. I'm telling you. That gash is playing us all."

"You're being paranoid, as usual. Johnny confessed. He insisted she had nothing to do with it."

"Just because I'm paranoid don't mean the bitch can be trusted." Tig clicked on the next post. "She's lying. I know she is, I just gotta prove it."

"What makes you so sure?"

Tig looked up and watched Gemma strut across the room. "Cos I know a conniving, manipulative, lying bitch when I see one."

Juice shook his head and stood up. "Tig, you think every woman is a conniving, manipulative, lying bitch. Good luck with your search."

Ignoring him, Tig looked back at the screen. He was right. He knew he was. That blonde gash, might have suckered everyone else. Hell, even Clay believed she was innocent. But he wasn't buying it. And somewhere on here, he was going to find the proof he needed.

* * *

Quinn leaned back against the pillows, bathed in sweat, trying to catch his breath. "Fuck. That was great."

"Yeah, it was." Mikey stretched and sat up. "I'm gonna take a shower."

He frowned as she watched her walk, naked across the bedroom. He couldn't wait to kick most women out of the sack after fucking them. Then, when he finally found one he wanted to stick around, as soon as they were done, she couldn't wait to get away from him. "Want me to wash your back?"

"Nah, I'm good."

"Well if you change your mind." She wouldn't, he knew. He wasn't sure if it was because she felt what they were doing was wrong, or if she was always like this, but he suspected the latter. She was a horny bitch and was as enthusiastic in the sack as she was. But she didn't want to cuddle, or talk afterwards. She had fallen asleep in his arms a couple of times, and sometimes, she'd sit, quietly, next to him and smoke a cigarette. He enjoyed that. They would sit in companionable silence, close enough to be touching each other, sharing a cigarette. Yeah that was good.

They hadn't talked much out of the sack either. And the conversations they did have were about superficial stuff. Movies they liked, music. They discussed the destination of the next day's ride, or talked about books they'd read. What they didn't discuss, was the reason they were both there. She may not have been so twitchy around him now, but she was still guarded. She still didn't trust him.

They had been stuck there for nearly two weeks. Clay had suggested that maybe someone else could watch her for a while. But as keen as he was to hit the road again, he'd refused. He'd promised her he'd stay, and he always tried to keep his word.

He leaned over and took his cell from the bedside table. "Clay? Listen man, I really think you gotta cut the girl loose."

* * *

Closing her eyes, Mikey tipped her head back allowing the water to run over her face. She wasn't stupid, she knew Quinn didn't like the way she ran out on him after sex, sometimes. But what choice did she have. They were getting close. Too close. For both their sakes, she had to maintain some distance between them.

Sometimes the wrongness of their situation would raise it's head. A chance remark, Clay's old lady turning up with fresh supplies. She knew Quinn was itching to get back out on the road, but when Clay had called and said he'd send that scary guy over, he'd insisted that he'd stay. She was grateful for that. He really was one of the good guys, and in quiet moments, she allowed herself to wonder how different her life would have been with a man like him.

Turning off the water, with a rueful shake of her head, she grabbed a towel and wandered back to the bedroom. Quinn was already out of bed and was pulling on his jeans. "I just spoke to Clay."

"And?"

"And they'll decide whether you can leave, tonight at church."

"Will you be there?"

"No. I don't get a vote." He reached out, grabbed her hand and pulled her to him. "They'll vote to cut you loose."

"Okay." She rested her forehead against his chest and closed her eyes.

He kissed her on the top of her head. "Wanna take a ride girl?"

* * *

"Okay. There's one last thing." Clay looked down the table to the assembled Sons. "The girl."

"We gotta let her go, Clay." Jax leaned forward. "She's been co-operative, and Quinn's happy she don't pose a threat."

Tig snorted. "Quinn's happy he's getting his dick wet. I don't trust her, Clay. I tell you the bitch is lying."

Clay sighed. He'd been hearing this for two weeks. "You got anything to back this up, Tigger?"

No but he'd find it. His hand slid into his pocket and his fingers closed around the memory stick. "Just what's in my gut."

"What about the rest of you. Do we take a chance and cut her loose?" Clay sat back as, one by one, they voted. They all knew what the alternative was. He banged his gavel on the table. "I'll call Quinn."

* * *

Mikey sat on the lumpy sofa and hugged her knees waiting for him to speak. He closed his cell and slipped it into his pocket. "You're free to leave whenever you want. We can go into Charming in the morning and pick up your laptop and anything else you might need." He sat down and ran his hand down her hair. "You okay?"

"Where do I go?"

"Where do you want to go?"

"Home, I suppose. Back to England"

"Manchester?"

She shook her head. "No. There's nothing for me there."

"How about staying here?"

"No."

"Not Charming, but here in the States. You're a good artist, you'd be able to earn. I can help you out till you're settled."

"No. I'm going home." She leaned her head against his shoulder. "You're a nice guy, Rane. But really, you don't need someone like me in your life. I think it's best we just go our separate ways."

"That what you want?"

She climbed onto his lap and wrapped her arms around his neck. "Yes, I think it is. I'll miss you though."

"I'll miss you too girl." He kissed her. "I guess we'll have to make the most of the time we have left."

It was four days before she could get a flight back to London. She had no idea whether it was the club or Quinn who had paid for her ticket. All he would say, was that it had been taken care of.

Instead of staying in the cabin, they had ridden to LA and he'd booked them into a motel for their last three days together. The ride had been good for both of them, and they both needed a change of scene. She sat on the bed and as he pulled off his boots, she knelt behind him and rested her cheek against his broad back. "So what we going to do for the next three days?"

"Well we could go an' see the sights. Maybe go look at the ocean. Or." He grinned. "We could just fuck."

"Mmmm. I like the sound of that. Although, I would like to see the ocean."

"Sure baby. I'll fuck you on the beach as well."

"Perfect."

He didn't get to fuck her on the beach, the following day. But as he sat on the sand with her between his legs eating an ice cream, he really didn't mind. He kissed her gently on the shoulder. You gonna be okay when you get back to England? If you need money…"

"I'll be fine. I have friends I can stay with for a while till I get back on my feet." She turned, so she was facing him and kissed him gently on the lips. "We will see each other again."

"I doubt that, girl."

"Trust me Rane." She kissed him again, her lips tasted of ice cream. "You and me. We're not done. Not by a long shot."

**THE END?**


	11. Chapter 11

**Thank you so much for reading, and for the reviews, follows and favourites.**

**This was always going to be a short story. Just a little something to appease my muse, who woke me in the early hours a few weeks ago with this.**

**I don't have any plans for what I'll be doing next. I'd quite like to pay Helen and Dee another visit sometime in the future, and a few of my freaky friends, have suggested I try my hand at an original piece. The amazingly talented, Laughingwarrior has just published her first novel, (Check it out. Move the Sun, by Susan Fanetti. It's available on Amazon and is absolutely wonderful) so who knows. Maybe one day.**

**Hope you've enjoyed my latest little offering, I've really enjoyed writing it.**

**Take care.**

**Sarah xx**

I don't own Sons of Anarchy**.**

Watching.

Epilogue.

It's peaceful here.

The beauty of the moor is breathtaking. It's wild and unpredictable. A serene summer's day can, in an instant, become a raging storm, or suddenly engulfed in fog. In the winter, when the snow is thick on the ground, it becomes so still, blanketed in an eerie silence. At night, wind rattles the windows and howls like a banshee across the hills, or on clear nights when all is still, I can look up at the heavens and marvel at the stars.

The view from my window is always the same, yet constantly changes.

I love the solitude.

I'm actually only two miles away from the village, but it's hidden from view and apart from the sound of the church bells on a Sunday or the odd tourist venturing along the narrow lane outside my house, it can feel like I'm the only person on the planet. I like that.

I do venture into the world populated by people. For a couple of afternoons a week, I work in the village shop and a gallery in a nearby town sells my watercolours to tourists in the summer. Sometimes I'll visit the local pub. I'm happy to chat with the regulars, but mostly I like to sit at the bar and people watch.

People ask if I'm lonely, out here all alone. I'm not. It may not be quaint or pretty. But I love my ugly, draughty little cottage. This is my space, for me alone. I never have visitors, there are no pets. My home is a true extension of my personality, it's contradictory and chaotic . Here, I don't have to pretend. I can be me.

I miss him though.

* * *

Mikey glanced out of the window. The rain drummed against the windowpane and the clouds hung heavy in the sky, promising much more to come. A half finished painting rested on the easel in the corner and the fire burned brightly, filling the small room with a rosy glow.

She had been living here for three years now, and was more contented than she'd ever been in her life. She knew that she was better off on her own, how tiring sharing her life with someone was.

Occasionally, the noise in her head would re-emerge and the need to silence it would build inside her. Then she would head into the city and find someone, anyone, to give her what she needed. It wasn't ideal, but it was better than nothing and she knew that no one would ever come closer to touching her than him.

She didn't miss Pete, or even Johnny. His betrayal had begun long before the events in Charming. But she did miss Rane Quinn.

She didn't regret leaving him, though. He would have torn down the wall she'd so carefully built around herself, leaving her exposed. He had been the only one to see it there in the first place.

The rumbling in the distance grew louder and she smiled as the unmistakable sound of a Harley grew closer. She'd always known their paths would cross again. That their story wasn't yet over.

* * *

Stupid, fucking godforsaken country, with it's stupid narrow roads and hedges so high there was no way of knowing what was round the next bend. Quinn scowled and tried to relax his shoulders that were hunched against the rain. The bike he'd borrowed from the Manchester charter was too small, and the ride too hard for his liking. He was cold, wet and uncomfortable but it never occurred to him to find somewhere warm and dry to rest up for a while. He'd ridden through worse and he hadn't far to go. Gritting his teeth, he pushed on until, finally, he pulled up outside a small, ugly, grey house, and killing the engine, dismounted.

He was half way along the garden path when she pulled open the front door. "I knew you'd come." She smiled. "Eventually."

Bending his head he stepped through the doorway and stood in front of her, his huge frame filling the tiny room. She looked so beautiful, so calm. The only clue to what she was actually feeling was the pulse fluttering in her throat. "Say something, Rane."

He shrugged. "Nothing to say, girl." He reached out and ran his hand down her cheek and down to her throat, then bringing up his other hand, began to squeeze. "Just keeping my word."

She didn't fight him. As he squeezed the life from her, the only movement had been the involuntary jerks as her body had struggled to stay alive. As soon as she stilled and the light had gone from her eyes, he dropped her lifeless body to the floor and looked around the room.

On a bookshelf on the far side of the room was an unopened bottle of Jack. He crossed the room and picked it up. Laying underneath was an envelope with his name on it. He opened the bottle and swallowed a huge slug then tore open the envelope.

'I knew you'd find me, Rane. You're a smart guy. Not as smart as Tig, but smart enough. I knew, when I saw him give you that memory stick, you'd look and keep on looking. And sooner or later you'd find what it was you were looking for. I figured it wouldn't be that difficult to find me, your tech guys are pretty good, although I'm betting the club has no idea why you're here. You're way too proud to tell them you were wrong.

If you want an explanation, it's in a file named 'Quinn.' Either way you might want to take it with you and destroy it. Just in case the police are as smart as you.

I'm sorry for lying to you. If it's any consolation, I really did like you. You really are one of the good guys.

Ride safe.

Mikey.'

He glanced at the open laptop on the table, then down at her body. He should go, to stay would be risky. But the room was warm, and it was nearly dark. And he didn't care anymore.

Taking another slug, he sat down and opened the file.

'This one's just for you, Rane.

Confessions are so hard to write. Part of me wants to say that I hadn't planned any of it to happen, but that really isn't true. I can't even say I'm sorry for what I did.

You have no idea what it's like, spending your life waiting for the next beating, to be constantly afraid. That's what my life with Pete was like.

He was lazy, cruel and brutal, but he was also stupid. After a few drinks he was as free with his tongue as he was with his fists. He was way too stupid to be club secretary but I encouraged him to take on the role, I could help him balance the books.

It was almost too easy. Once a week he'd bring the strong box home and drink himself into oblivion while I counted out the money to be shared out among the patches or to go into club funds, each time, keeping a little back for myself. The club owed me. They'd all seen the bruises. Even Johnny stood by and let the abuse go on.

Problem was. If I got caught they'd kill me.

Luckily for me, most people are pretty stupid. They look, but they don't really see. And no one ever saw me.

They were all so complacent, I would sit quietly and listen as they discussed club business, right there in front of me. And after a few drinks, Pete, when he wasn't taking out his frustrations on me, would brag about his exploits. It was almost too easy.

I hated him, Rane. I hated him with a passion. I wanted him to die, and I wanted the club to kill him. So I set him up and let the one thing he truly loved do my dirty work for me. I was never going to stand in the witness box. I didn't care what happened to the rest of them. I just wanted him dead.

You read the stuff I wrote, and because you're smart, you read between the lines. You know I'm not the innocent victim everyone thinks I am. You know exactly what I am.

When Johnny made contact, I knew the club was looking for me and that if I didn't want to spend the rest of my life on the run, I'd have to implement my contingency plan. Setting up the accounts in Johnny's name had been easy, and moving the money around them, easier. It's funny how a mere two grand can look like a lot of money is you move it about enough. Especially when people only see what they want to see.

I knew he'd take the fall to save me. I guess I should feel guilty about that, but I don't. Johnny was an idiot. A weak, pathetic fool who believed himself to be an honourable man, while watching his friend get beaten on an almost daily basis. My love and respect for him died a long time ago.

It was always a risky strategy, but I was reasonably confident I'd be able to pull it off. If I didn't I'd be killed, but I've never been afraid to die. My life's worth shit anyway.

If it had been anyone else. Anyone but you, I'd still be alive. Even Tig, I could have won round and turned him into my greatest champion.

It wasn't hard to make you fall in love with me, to make you ignore the little voice in your head that was telling you that you were being played. But I knew you wouldn't be able to ignore it for ever. And of course, falling in love with you wasn't part of the plan.

I know you Rane Quinn. You're a watcher.

I'm good at hiding myself. Really good. People hardly notice me, and when they do, the person they see, isn't me. You noticed though, and I had to work real hard to hide the real me from you.

What was it you found, as you read all that stuff? I'm guessing it's what _wasn't _there, that first tipped you off. Maybe I missed some of the more incriminating entries. You have to remember, when I started to keep a journal, I never planned on anyone reading it and I couldn't remove everything, not when everyone knew what I used the laptop for. My word wouldn't have been enough. I had to make it look like I'd been set up. And if I say so myself, I did a pretty good job of it, although, clearly, not good enough.

So that's it. Now you know. Tig was right. I'm a devious, manipulative, lying bitch and I was playing you all along.

I'm sorry, and I love you.

M.'

"Fuck." His voice sound loud in the silent room. "Fuck." Pushing back his chair he stood and walked to where she was laying. He crouched down and ran his hand along her hair. "Me too, girl."

The moors were quiet now. The only sound was the unmistakable roar of a Harley, and the only light in the inky blackness was the flickering light on the horizon as the ugly grey cottage burned to the ground.

THE END


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